


And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil

by widevibratobitch



Category: Don Carlos - Friedrich Schiller, Don Carlos | Don Carlo - Verdi/du Locle/Méry
Genre: Also Rodrigo is just gorgeous, Angst, Drabble, F/M, Kinda, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Philip is actually a cinnamon roll, and deserves some happiness before it all goes to shit, the Grand Inquisitor is a dick, you'll have to accept it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 06:12:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14278611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/widevibratobitch/pseuds/widevibratobitch
Summary: Philip had asked God for a man - he got an angel.





	And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil

Looking at him, feeling the warm, zealous body spasming beneath him in a mixture of agony and pleasure, Philip understood, that he had never truly loved before.

He craved Elisabeth’s young form, her subtle, delicate curves setting his senses on fire. He wanted to possess her if only out of spite against his foolish son. She was a proper wife - she spread her legs before him if he so wished, but she was always still, cold. She never burned for him - maybe only with hatred and disgust, that he knew was constantly boiling inside her, even though she was always able to keep the marble, temperate façade from crashing. Sometimes he almost regretted having married her. Sometimes he despised himself for ruining this fragile creature, for ripping her out of his son’s eager, love-starved arms. He wondered if her icy shell could melt under Carlos’s touch, if his words and caresses could move her young heart, turned listless too early. To him she was a queen and a wife but nothing more. He desired her body but knew too well her core was closed to him.

Whilst Rodrigo… Rodrigo was constantly burning, aflame with passion. Looking at him, the image of Archangel Michael gleamed in Philip’s mind. With his sharp eyes, penetrating the King’s very soul, with his agitated words and noble, sublime ideas, spilling from his lips like molten gold (that was more precious to Philip than all the riches of Spain) – that was his weapon, the flaming sword that pierced Philip’s heart. Rodrigo truly seemed to him like a gift from God Himself, like a divine creature sent down from heaven to convert him, to break him free from the devil’s deadly grasp.

But the devil was jealous, ferocious. The devil did not like to share his servants with anyone, definitely not with a god-like being. No, the devil would try to take it away from him, to possess his mind and soul again, to rob him of the last chance of salvation.

And Philip would not allow it.

Sucking at those sweet, soft lips, inhaling that balmy scent, feeling the warm, smooth skin beneath his fingers and listening to the rapid gasps and moans slowly calming into even breaths, Philip vowed – to God and to himself - to protect this heavenly creature from Hell’s calamitous claws. At any cost.


End file.
